


A Moment, A Love

by quixotesque



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 13:11:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14081631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quixotesque/pseuds/quixotesque
Summary: They move like the sharp, quick winds of Jabariland from the Talon to their bedroom. The moment the door slams shut, N’Jadaka is crashing into him, suit already de-materializing and mouth ravenous on T’Challa’s.





	A Moment, A Love

**Author's Note:**

> Just some porn set in some future where T'Challa has a sweet thing going on with an Erik who is less murder-y!
> 
> Title taken from 'Sweet Disposition' by The Temper Trap.

They move like the sharp, quick winds of Jabari-land from the Talon to their bedroom. The moment the door slams shut, N’Jadaka is crashing into him, suit already de-materializing and mouth ravenous on T’Challa’s.

T’Challa hastily steadies them before they can topple backwards, arms fitting around N’Jadaka’s waist. He lets his own suit fall away to grind back into N’Jadaka, hot skin against hot skin, scars against smoothness, the scrape of their cocks deliciously gritty.

Adrenaline from their mission still careens through T’Challa, electric in his veins, but there’s a molten frisson overwhelming it, the kind that only N'Jadaka can bring out in him. It's ferocious and unending, this desire for N'Jadaka. It lives inside of T'Challa as fundamental as his bones, the breath in his lungs, and there's nothing for him to do but return N’Jadaka’s hunger tenfold, kissing him hard, deep. They eat and eat at each other, wild and craving.

“Fucking  _hot_  watching you fight,” N’Jadaka hisses, like he’s almost angry about the fact. The eager need to fight still sparks there in the darkness of his eyes, only now it’s shifting into something much more tantalizing. “Nearly as hot as actually fighting you.”

“I'm flattered,” T’Challa rasps. “You were not so bad yourself.”

N’Jadaka flashes a smirk that says  _I know_  before T’Challa breaks it open with a bite to N’Jadaka’s mouth.

The path to the bed is straightforward, one they can make with their eyes closed, but he and N’Jadaka stumble over and over, engrossed enough in the rough fumbling between their bodies and the kisses they can steal that it takes them a full minute to get there.

N’Jadaka pushes him, half-climbing onto T'Challa's lap when T'Challa sits, half-dragged down there by T'Challa's commanding hand. The sunlight pooled over the bed turns N’Jadaka’s sweat-damp limbs gossamer, the broad gold necklace around his neck illumined into a vivid circle. He is captivating and T’Challa entertains the idea of keeping N’Jadaka just this way: a long length of luminous skin and rippling muscles, naked except for his Jaguar necklace and kept in the silk of T’Challa’s bed, ready for any and all the ways T'Challa wants to have him.   

When he shares this with N’Jadaka, N’Jadaka laughs, teeth glinting white and gold.

“Dirty king,” he purrs and rocks his hips, cock rubbing against T’Challa’s belly, leaving a stain behind. “Tell me more.”

“I could smell you,” T’Challa says, voice edging into a growl. He drags his mouth gracelessly over N’Jadaka’s chest, licking, biting, the scent of his skin something like a drug, almost strong enough to sit on T’Challa’s tongue. “Smell myself inside of you." And that smell had intoxicated him. Had made his mouth water, hooking into his cock, awakening it with a need to be buried inside N’Jadaka again. 

“I know,” N’Jadaka says smoothly. “Why you think I did it? Gets you crazy for me faster than anything.”

N'Jadaka likes to play games, to tease and torment T’Challa, eyes challenging and smirk lazy. T’Challa lets him, indulgent in this as he is with everything else, everyone else, in his closest circle, but T'Challa can also partake in these games and this time it is by slipping his hands down to fill his palms with N'Jadaka's plush ass. Pressing a finger inwards, he finds N’Jadaka’s opening still so slick from their harried fucking just before the mission. T’Challa groans to feel the smear against his fingerpad—his come, kept like a secret gift inside N’Jadaka—and slides two fingers in without a thought.

N’Jadaka's body accepts it easily. The river of his spine bends, sinuous. “You like that?” he asks in a heated whisper, though he must know the answer. “I’m  _wet_  for you, babe. Wet enough to ride you. ’S all I thought about. This fat dick and how much I wanted to sit on it when we got done with those fuckers thinking they could steal our vibranium.”

There’s an undercurrent of rage there at the end, potent disgust at the thieves who had dared to act against them. It pleases T’Challa to hear it, just as it thrills him to watch N’Jadaka fight at his side, fight for their people. Their home. Each other.

Fierce pride surges through him for this prince who had been lost and then found, who now thrives before him, and he seizes N'Jadaka's mouth in a kiss, crooks his fingers inside as a reward.  

N’Jadaka moans, jolting against T’Challa, pushing down, his hole sweetly clenching. “Those fingers better be your cock in the next second,” he says, casually imperious. “Said I wanna ride you and it's what I'm gonna do.”

T'Challa chuckles. He slips his fingers out and smudges them along the curve of N’Jadaka’s ass until he can cup those finely cut hipbones and help N’Jadaka up onto his knees. “Who am I to refuse you."

The corner of N’Jadaka’s mouth hitches up as he confidently takes T’Challa’s cock in hand, stroking the pre-come down the length of him once. He lines himself up, holds T’Challa’s gaze, sinks down, inch by slow inch, the snug clench of him simultaneously a familiar and shocking mind-bending pleasure. N’Jadaka takes him in with a guttural, “ _Yeah_ , yeah, fuck, that’s—mmmm,” and his slack lips form an obscene ring around the moan pouring out of him. T’Challa finds himself gripped by the fierce wish that he could fill N’Jadaka’s mouth at the same time, too, have him both ways and possess him entirely.

N’Jadaka has barely settled before he’s moving again, taking what he wants like he’s fallen into a heat of some kind, joining and re-joining their bodies with fast, slick sounds. T’Challa summons every ounce of his self-restraint, toes curling, and keeps his hips still, allows N’Jadaka to have these few moments to himself. Even so, his hands can’t resist the call of N’Jadaka’s skin and he caresses over the small of his back, the swell of his ass, his heaving ribs and peaked nipples. The tenderness of his throat, that place just below his jaw that T’Challa likes to gently bite because it makes N’Jadaka shiver.

T’Challa nips him there again and N’Jadaka shivers as usual and T’Challa says, “You are perfect.”

N’Jadaka huffs, but not with real ire. “You know I ain’t go in for that mush.”

“ _Perfect_ ,” T’Challa says again, firm.

N’Jadaka makes a soft sound that might have been a laugh, but he’s too frantic on T’Challa’s cock for it to be a real sound, caught up in the snare of his own fierce lust, his nails leaving half-moons on T’Challa’s shoulders. Being like this with him is hardly ever without some minor pain: scratches along T’Challa’s back, teeth marks on his collarbones, bruises around the back of his thighs. T’Challa takes it in stride; it isn’t as if N’Jadaka never wears marks of T’Challa’s own making.

Shaking his head as if to rid himself of some daze, N’Jadaka demands, “I need more,” and now T’Challa finally moves. Hands tightening on the strong flare of N’Jadaka’s hips, he thrusts up harshly into him like punches from below, hard enough to make N’Jadaka toss his head back and moan skywards, “There, right there, baby. T’Cha— T’Challa.  _T’Challa_.”

T’Challa answers those desperate calls, holding N’Jadaka down onto his cock, slamming up hard just where he needs it. He fucks him in the sweetly vicious way N’Jadaka prefers, where N’Jadaka is kept hostage to the force of T’Challa’s rough thrusts and the even rougher pleasure that comes with them and N’Jadaka’s brow creases as if he is in pain because the ecstasy is almost agonizing.

N’Jadaka looks that way now, face exquisitely twisted up, as he comes with a shredded noise trapped in his throat and streaks across their bellies. Shaking, he clutches at T’Challa. Laughs raggedly and presses their foreheads together, groaning, “Fu _ck_. You always do me so fucking good.”

“It is my genuine pleasure,” T’Challa says slyly.

N’Jadaka snorts. He trembles, but his impatience doesn’t allow him to pause for long and T’Challa isn’t surprised to feel N’Jadaka’s hips begin rolling slowly, sensually. “Your turn now,” he murmurs, clamping down on T’Challa hard enough to drag scraped moans out of them both.

“My turn,” T’Challa agrees gravelly. Turning them gently, dropping N’Jadaka onto his back without losing his place inside of him, T’Challa drags in a breath, chest tight, brimming with wanting N’Jadaka so intensely. It should be impossible to crave another this much, and yet he carries that impossibility within him, feels it flare every moment he spends in N’Jadaka’s presence.

N’Jadaka wraps his long legs around T’Challa and welcomes him in deeper with a fluid roll of his hips. His smile is devious, voice seductive, as he says, “ _Kumkani_ ,” because he knows what it does to T’Challa to hear his title come from N’Jadaka’s mouth when he so rarely utters it. “Give it to me,  _kumkani_. Fuck me through this bed and come in my ass so I can drip with it all night.”

It’s the greatest invitation T’Challa has ever heard.

He snaps himself into the perfect pleasure of N’Jadaka’s body, relentless, mindless in a way he hadn’t let himself be earlier, groaning into N’Jadaka’s neck, mouthing at the softness there blindly. It doesn’t take long; T’Challa is too far gone to hold back anymore and all he needs is one last clench of N’Jadaka around his cock for that telling pull in his belly to make itself known, orgasm unspooling from where it’d gathered tight behind his muscles.

It thunders through him to find home in N’Jadaka instead and N’Jadaka moans, long and low, like he’s the one coming. He arches and takes the shallow thrusts T’Challa jerks into him, mooring himself in N’Jadaka so that the aftershocks don’t carry him away.

N’Jadaka bears T’Challa’s weight without complaint, settling a hand just below T’Challa’s nape. He looks almost sweet now with his face relaxed and dreadlocks in disarray, dark ribbons against the sheets. T’Challa breathes and breathes and tries to will his pounding heart into calming down. Pushing aside his reluctance, he withdraws from N’Jadaka’s body and, helpless to the urge, T’Challa glances down to see the hole he has left swollen and glistening. He licks his lips.

N’Jadaka is smiling, knowing and smug, when T’Challa looks back up.

“I’ll have to deal with certain looks from Okoye now, thanks to you,” T’Challa tells him, settling on his side, hitching one of N’Jadaka’s legs over his hip so that he can still idly run a hand over the strong thigh. “She must have guessed why we left so quickly.”

N’Jadaka’s smile just grows. “Not my fault you can’t keep your hands off.”

“Oh? So it wasn’t you who threw himself at me? Because I seem to recall differently.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t throw myself at you. I said you can’t keep your hands off me. You coulda just walked out that door anytime.”

“Clever,” T’Challa says. “You think you are so clever.”

“I  _am_ clever,” N’Jadaka says pointedly, “I’m a genius and you best agree if you want this fine ass again,” and he is right, so T’Challa kisses him in concession, sucking sweetly at his tongue. He would pity his people for not knowing that the most succulent fruit in all of Wakanda lies right here in N’Jadaka’s velvet mouth, but that would mean sharing the knowledge first and while T’Challa tries to be a good king, even he is not so magnanimous.

He keeps this secret for himself, tucked behind his heart, and solemnly says, “I have never agreed more with anything in my entire life,” before leaning down to enjoy that fruit some more, N’Jadaka letting him in with a triumphant laugh.


End file.
